


stroke order

by broniichan



Category: Free!
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, soft boi hours only, the least angsty thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 12:31:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17264273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broniichan/pseuds/broniichan
Summary: Haruka waits for Makoto to spiral and eventually come to an answer, knowing that since Haruka has offered it, Makoto will be incapable of rejecting it.





	stroke order

The first line is horizontal, narrow. 

Second dissects the first, long and vertical. Release to the left, stop to the right. 

Onward, feeling through the hooks, the stops, and the releases, adapting to the unforgiving permanence of the black ink on the paper, until the first character is complete. Redip the brush. 

All over again, but with a different pattern of strokes to form a different image and a different sound. By the end, the brush feels dry again, streaky, and needs more ink to replenish it for the last character. Stops, releases. 

Haruka opens his eyes. 

Pleased the ink hasn’t seeped through to stain the floor (for one thing his parents can count on him for is keeping the house clean in their absence), he sets aside the bottle of ink, brush resting atop it, and lifts up the sheet of paper to inspect his work. He scans down the three characters, mentally twitching at the instances of crookedness, of where the ink is too thick or too thin, of where a line extends longer than it should or doesn’t quite make it all the way. 

But not that bad, considering.

He stands and places the long sheet of paper flat upon his table to dry, and then returns to close the bottle of ink and bring the brush to the sink. Not wanting the ink to crust over his nice quality brush, he washes it out, watching the water flow murky and dark down the drain until it eventually runs clean. Taps the brush on the side of the sink; droplets flick off. And he’s done. 

Haruka forgets about his experiment drying on the table until the next morning, when Makoto tails him to the dining room and kitchen, fussing over him for not making his breakfast sooner. 

The scolding comes to an abrupt stop as Haruka pulls his apron over his head. 

“E-Eh?” Makoto squeaks. “Why does that say my name?” 

Haruka looks back. “Oh. That.” He ties his apron. “I wanted to see if I could write it with my eyes closed, so I did.” 

“You did this with your  _ eyes closed? _ ” 

“Yeah.” 

Blinking, Makoto furrows his brow over the sheet, tentatively pinching it between his thumb and index finger. He marvels over it a moment, before pink tinges his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. “But—but why is it… my name?”

Pulling out his pan, Haruka shrugs. “Because my first name would have been too easy to write with closed eyes.” 

“You could have used ‘Haruka,’ not ‘Haru.’”

“No.”

A chuckle. “Figures.”

Haruka starts up the stove and begins slicing his fish, only to pause with a sneak glance over his shoulder. Makoto continues to stand there, thumb touching the paper. 

Turning to his fish again, Haruka hides a smile. “Do you want it?” 

“Eh?” 

“Do you want to keep it? I’m going to throw it out anyways.” 

“Oh? Well, I mean, ah—” 

Haruka waits for Makoto to spiral and eventually come to an answer, knowing that since Haruka has offered it, Makoto will be incapable of rejecting it. 

“—so if you’re just going to throw it away, I guess I could, but Haru, when you say, ‘throw it away,’ I hope you mean recycle, because—” 

“Makoto.” 

Makoto exhales. “Sure, I’ll take it.” The sound of paper being rolled up. “Um. Thanks, Haru-chan.” 

“Yeah. And don’t call me that.” 

The piece of paper slips from Haruka’s mind again until lunch on the rooftop, when Nagisa’s eyes pass over Makoto’s unzipped backpack. “Hm, some secret note?” he says, lowering his bento to pluck out the rolled up cylinder. 

“Oh, that—”

Nagisa has already unfurled it. “‘Tachibana Makoto,’” he reads out in a mock deep voice, like a teacher calling roll. “Huh, what’s this? Are you afraid you’re going to forget your name, Mako-chan?” 

“Ah, no—”

“Hm.” Squinting, Nagisa brings it closer to his eyes. “On second thought, this is too good for Mako-chan to have written it.” 

“ _ Hey. _ ”

Rei chides, “Nagisa-kun.” 

With a cordial laugh, Makoto shakes his head. “Actually, Haru-chan is the one who wrote it.” 

Haruka freezes with a bite of fish hovering on his chopsticks as both Nagisa and Rei look at him. 

“Eh, what for, Haru-chan? Some kind of project?” 

Haruka swallows his bite before answering. “To test myself.” 

“Test yourself?” 

“Haru wrote it with his eyes closed,” explains Makoto. 

Nagisa and Rei’s eyes widen.

“Eh, you’re so talented, Haru-chan!”

“As to be expected from Haruka-senpai!” 

Shoveling in another bite, Haruka looks away and mumbles through rice, “It’s not that impressive.” 

Rei and Nagisa babble a little more until eventually, Nagisa returns the paper to Makoto and it is forgotten. As the subject moves on, Haruka eyes Makoto as Makoto rolls the paper up and slips it into his backpack. Makoto resumes eating his lunch a little subdued, but noticing Haruka’s eyes on him, he flashes a quick, unconvincing smile. 

Haruka lowers his eyes to the rolled up paper poking out from Makoto’s backpack. 

He doesn’t see it again in the coming week, as Makoto brings it home with him and places it somewhere out of immediate sight within his room. It’s still around somewhere, Haruka knows, because Makoto would absolutely never throw out anything from Haruka, but Makoto does not mention it again. 

One day in class, their history teacher proposes several different arguments and asks everyone in the class to write their name on the chalkboard underneath the one they agree with most to gauge everyone’s thoughts. Haruka immediately scrawls out his name under the one he feels least apathetic towards and hands his piece of chalk off to Makoto. While their classmates buzz around and fill in their names, Makoto hangs back, silent, wearing a thin coat of indecision. By the time most everyone has selected their argument, Makoto finally steps to the board. 

Just before the piece of chalk can make contact, he hesitates. 

Much more slowly and much more carefully than normal, Makoto draws out his name, line by line. He studies his completed work a breath and places the chalk on the rail. When he sits back down next to Haruka, he rubs away the chalky residue from his fingertips. 

The name on the board hardly looks like Makoto’s handwriting. 

Two weekends following, Nagisa and Rei invite them to come shopping just for fun and “team bonding” outside of practice. Haruka gets ready and dressed earlier than Makoto can arrive to pick him up, and feeling an urge for a change in pace, he sets down the stairs to the Tachibanas’. 

Makoto’s mother answers. “Oh, Haruka-kun! Makoto’s in his room, I think.” 

Thanking her and stepping inside, Haruka slips off his shoes and pads down the hallway in his socks. The TV blares with noisy cartoons from the living room, presumably the morning’s entertainment for Ren and Ran. Haruka reaches Makoto’s door and lightly knocks. 

“Yes?”

“It’s me.” Cracking the door, Haruka peeks in. 

Makoto stands by his desk, rifling through the contents of one of his drawers. His head pops up. “Oh, Haru! Come in.”

Shutting it behind him, Haruka leans onto the door with arms crossed over his chest. Makoto’s attention is on the clutter of stuff he pulls from the drawer. 

“Ah, I swear I put my wallet in here…” 

A faintly amused smile on his lips, Haruka lets his gaze wander around the messy room. His smile slips and his eyes stop. 

“Found it!” Triumphant, Makoto lifts his brown wallet, unearthed from the depths. “Haru?” His eyes follow Haruka’s sightline. “O-Oh!” 

Stuck to the wall, vulnerable out in the open, is  _ Tachibana Makoto  _ in Haruka’s writing. 

Color rises to Makoto’s face. “I, uh, I thought I might as well put it up, since I had it!” he says, quickly, closing his desk drawer. 

Haruka says nothing, his own face tingling uncomfortably. 

A pause.

With a sigh, Makoto slips his wallet into the pocket of his jeans and looks back at the paper squarely. Tension fades from his shoulders, his smile losing its discomfort. “Yeah, actually…” The smile keeps as he faces Haruka. “Thank you, Haru-chan.” 

Haruka ducks his eyes away. “You already thanked me.” 

“I know. I mean it differently, now.” 

Haruka’s arms drop to his sides and he shifts, awkwardly, nothing right on his tongue. But he doesn’t need to do anything, as Makoto steps into him and presses an easy kiss to his temple.

Hand warm and gentle on the back of Haruka’s neck, Makoto pulls back with a maddening smile. “Guess we should head out,” he says, “so we can help Rei keep Nagisa from blowing his entire allowance.” 

Haruka blinks and swallows. His voice comes out quieter than he intends. “Yeah.” 

The next time Haruka sees Makoto write out his own name, the strokes are a little crooked, and the notebook paper creases from being pressed so hard. 

Haruka smiles to himself. Looks like Makoto’s handwriting.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://broniichan.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/bronii_chan)


End file.
